Hetalia Masterchef
by lilsandstorm
Summary: England goes on Masterchef with France and Italy as the judges. Crack. Written by my 11 year old sister who's knowledge of hetalia is small. A joke.


MY STORY!

England slowly whipped the cream with his fork. It was failing badly. If he didn't hurry, his scones in the oven would burn while he is trying to whip the cream. No. No no no. He had spilt the cream everywhere! Now he would have to settle for scones without cream. How bloody crap, eh?

"Do hurry, England! You only have five more minutes to prove you are the master chef!" Announced Italy.

"I'm sorry! The cream is bloody everywhere, but the scones are looking amazingly better than usual. I am so good with this,"

England says: I was so calm. I loved being on the show! I was sure I tried my all, and I'd be baffled if I did not win. Oooh, tea! I'll have a cuppa :D

"Your time is up! Oh hor hor hor hor hor, ha ha hor, ah hor hor hor!" France cried.

"Yay! I am ready ready ready!"

England placed his dish of pasta as his main course on the table, in front of the judges, Italy and France. Then, he got his dessert of scones and jam, without the cream, on the table next to it.

"PASTA!" Italy cried, jumping out his chair and whipping off his trousers. "YAY! How did you know it was my favourite?"

"Ooh, I had no idea! Anyway, I think I have created a whirl wind of amazing talent that has never been able to have been devoured on this show before." England proudly said, straightening his bow tie.

"What did he just say?" France whispered to Italy, raising his eye brows. Italy shrugged, putting his trousers back on.

"So, let's taste this glory food made by England," Italy shouted, lifting his fork, scooped up the pasta and then he dived the fork into his into the swirls and scooped it in his mouth. Disgusted, he ran to the toilet, and threw up the meal.

"Hmm, the problem was, is that they were not cooked. At all… and, you did not use tomatoes, you used gravy. I am disappointed! What the hell gives you the ****** right to treat this glorious dish with such immaturity! I will never ******* put you through. I have lost my friendship with you England, for forever and life!" He continued, a tear going down his cheek.

"I don't think I want to try this dish…" France declared, preparing himself for the battle against yumminess and non-yumminess.

He ate. He swallowed. He smiled.

"Well England, I do not think I have had as much respect for you ever. Pasta and gravy, who would of known! Hor hor hor, hor hor hor hor hor hor!"

":3 Thank you… but I am not a whore whore whore, whore whore whore whore whore!"

"So does this mean we're friends, England? I'm tired of fighting."

"Well, no, but maybe I will reconsider if you make me win. Anyway, let's go on to the second dish."

Italy wiped his mouth violently, and picked up the scone from the plate, bracing himself dearly.

"Tell my children I hate them…" He said, opening his mouth.

"DADDY!" Sardinia wailed.

England clenched is bow tie. France edged to Italy, jaw dropped. Sweat obediently ran from Italy's forehead. It was now or never. The scone was just about to be eaten. THEN…..

K-pow!

"Doo doo baba, doo doo baba! We are sorry. Technical difficulties occurred with this part of the show! Sorry! Now, let's just look at what previously happened behind the scenes earlier, 2 hours ago." (Who the F*** said that?)

-2 hours ago-

"YOU WILL LET ME THROUGH… YOU WILL ENJOY MY PASTA…." England clenched his gun and shot it, just missing Frances shoulder.

"Never! I will not give in to your horrendous cooking! Hor hor hor hor hor!" France said, dodging the gun shots and shooting England.

"Yes you will… or I'll tell your wife Belgium that you still sleep with a night light!" England teased, shooting several times, aiming to France.

"I do not… you meanie!"

"That doesn't mean I cannot tell her that. How delightfully horrid of me!"

"England, you bi…"

Suddenly, England pounced on France and pinned him down, gun aiming to his heart.

"Seriously, am I not awesome? Anyway, listen, if you don't say my pasta is delightful, I'll kill you now! Or maybe I'll steal your croissants!"

"Anything but my croissants! Fine, I'll act normal and say you're frigging pasta is yummy like heaven, as long as I can rule you forever!"

"If you do… bye, bye CROISSANTS!"

"Fine, deal, England. Well played… this time,"

"THE TECHINCAL DIFFICULTIES HAVE BEEN SOLVED. ENJOY THE SHOW!"

Italy and France have made their decision. Did they enjoy England's meal he gave them?

"England, you showed great courage, and I loved that. You didn't make it though, I am sorry," Italy announced, handing the golden globe to America and his fries, burger and fruity Popsicle.

"Oh. I thought my gravy pasta was scrum-diddly-dumsious, but I suppose it wasn't your shibanf, was it?" England said, reacting to his epic fail.

England says: I suppose it wasn't the judge's cup of tea. Next time, I will blow their knickers off!

EPILOUGE.

Italy: I never did find my belt for my trousers. And, France, why did you enjoy the terrible pasta England made.

France: It was quite tasty, hor hor hor!

Italy: It was dry, with gravy! He was ******* terrible! What's gone on with your balls? Did they strangle you and make you say crazy things?

France: Something like that…

…..  
>France : How did those scones taste?<p>

Italy: Of course! I did not tell you! Well, get ready, they tasted -

"Doo doo baba! Doo doo baba TECHNICAL DIFFICULTIES"


End file.
